Organic Lovers Anonymous
by Consuelo Higdon
Summary: /Drabble-Collection/ From the most famous to the most obscure, these are the ones who broke the organic-fearing mold, and loved them instead. This is their story. /TFA Beachcomber Natron Prowl Jazz Thundercracker/
1. Beachcomber

It was unnerving, that he could be staring right at you, yet not realize that you exist.

You never knew if he was aware of your existence at all unless he was actually talking to you. It was even more unnerving when you realized that even when he was talking to you, he still wasn't completely sure whether you were really there. Most people who had encountered this with him left and never came back, like his odd, detached nature was contagious or something. Because of this, very, very few people ever got close enough to him to get to know him. After all, there was a reason he was so detached.

It all started when he began the now defunct Organics Classes in the Autobot Academy. That was where he had found his original calling; he would be a geographer. That was enough to throw anyone off-guard—becoming a geographer after going to an Organics Class? But back then he was clever, back then he was rather wriggly and very sly with his words and actions. It often took a while for people to realize what he really wanted to do when he set out to do something.

You see, by becoming a geographer, he would be called upon on expeditions. He would be selected by adventurers and fellow geographers to go to alien planets—_Organic_ planets. He would be able to commune with the flora, the fauna, the fungi, the bacteria, every single living, breathing, reproducing, and organic organism in the universe. He would be free to see, hear, smell, and feel the world he had decided he loved, and even taste it if he was so inclined. He had spent his years in the academy, training for the day he would graduate and move on to become a professional geographer. Every dream he had until then was centered on seeing all of the beautiful organic marvels he had learned about second-hand in his classes.

But then Bombshell came with his mind-control device, a small mechanism called a cerebro-shell. During the time when the cerebro-shell had been embedded in his head, he could barely think for himself; the only thing he could do was see what he was doing. The small fragments of his processor still under his control were appalled at his actions. It came in pieces, but it still wasn't very pretty. Assassinating fellow academy goers, attempting to immobilize Elite Guardsmen, and even going as far as to try and steal the Magnus Hammer. Around the time Bombshell had realized that he had gone too far and stopped sending signals to the mechanism, a medic had tackled him and ripped it out of his processor.

That's when he went to Cloud Cuckoo Land.

Everything that he could have ever dreamed of left him. He lost everything, couldn't think straight, could barely think _at all_. It was a miracle he was even functioning properly with a clearly broken processor such as his. Ever since, his thoughts were small, slow, few, and far between. However, he was still somehow capable of making commitments. This became apparent first when he still wanted to be surrounded by organics. Being a geographer, however, was out of the question, seeing as how the Academy had booted him out the second he was revealed as the assassin of their best students. So he hitchhiked.

It was a good thing that his one and only guide was not a written document, but rather a collection of fun and memorable videos with a voice that shortened everything down to a very understandable definition. If it weren't for it, he would have never made it to all of the organic planets that he had been to. And he had been to a great very many organic planets; so many, that if anyone actually knew how many in this day and age on Cybertron, he would have been avoided and quarantined as a walking virus.

The paranoia for organics was strongest with the Autobots, so much so that Beachcomber was actively _disowned _by them for that reason alone. And yet, he never bothered to take off his sticker, mostly because he had completely forgotten it was there. He would occasionally run in to fellow Autobots, but they would inevitably get as far away from him as possible almost as quickly as he had begun to jabber aimlessly in their direction. But he was never disgruntled when they left; after all, with his processor rendered significantly inferior to those of others, he rarely remembered ever speaking to anyone at all.

However, he _did _speak with the organics much more often. His special power was always in his processor, and so deep and heavily guarded within it that it would be impossible to remove it. It was the ability to learn and recognize languages instantaneously merely by being provoked into a conversation. He had spoken with many creatures, and they all had names. SF-A2, a mammalian huntress, FAT, an apple-like flying mammal, Jake, a bluebird, the list went on and on. However, these conversations were rare, and even then they were just as forgotten as the rest of his conversations. Overall, he lived the majority of his life in silence and serenity, merely watching the scenery and landscapes change as he hiked through them. Organics, for a time, were the only things he could ever focus on.

At least, until Cosmos came into the picture. But that's another story.


	2. Natron

Of all of his pirate gang, Natron was by far the weirdest.

One of the most glaring oddities that surrounded Natron was his odd accent. No one had the faintest idea of where he gained it, though many of the crackpot medics on his ship agreed that it was a subconscious effect from his previously unknown Twin Bond. This led up to his second oddity; that he was a twin. And not just _a _twin; he was the first recorded instance of a twin ever.

Natron had heard the story time and time again; being a split protoform, many 'bots were overly superstitious and claimed that he and his twin sister were pit-spawn, destined to bring doom to the faction they stayed with. These fights had only added to the previous tensions between the flying Cybertronians and the driving Cybertronians of yester-year, to the point of conserving the protoforms into spark-support cases to make sure they would never bring doom and destruction to any faction. Many believed then, and still do believe, that if a protoform doesn't have a chassis, then it is not truly alive. This ultimately became problematic when the antiquated spark-support systems became to malfunction. The High Council had to make a choice; let the protoforms collapse into spare parts, or to give the protoforms chasses of their own. They settled on a compromise; they would give the protoforms chasses, but would be strategically placed so that they would grow to be entirely different in every possible way. When they were finally given chasses, Natron was an Autobot mech, and his twin Freezon was a Decepticon femme.

But of course, they ended up finding each other anyway. Once they found each other, there was no way that they could continue fighting in the Great Wars when they were separate factions. They were meant to be together, as two halves of a whole that couldn't be put back together again. So they ended up running away and being taken in by pirates. Looking back on it, Natron couldn't help but feel that he did bring doom to the Autobot cause; after all, if a Decepticon and an Autobot were determined beyond all reason to be together in a familial relationship, then that would completely shatter both factions out of existence. Or maybe he was just being paranoid.

That was another one of his odd ways of life; his paranoia. He wasn't paranoid in the sense that the thought everything that moved was part of a conspiracy theory to destroy him and his sister, steal his job, burn down the ship, completely shatter the familial bond all of the pirates had toward each other, and then dance on his grave. Oh no, not at all; he was never paranoid for himself. He was paranoid for _others._ This made little sense to many, but the fact that he wasn't given a chassis until his protoform was close to collapsing into itself led him to speculate that his processor wasn't exactly at an average working standard. That and he had Scraplets. Though that statement alone could be paranoid in and of itself.

Either way, Natron was still alive, and his sister was still alive, so all in all everything was just fine and dandy. No one ever really bothered him, and just left him to his own workings; mostly putting things he found on alien planets into jars for his collection. His most prized possession, and his first jar, was a simple jar filled with dirt. Not specified mud, not sand, not living dirt, not bioluminescent limestone, just plain dirt.

Of course, his collection of jars wasn't the only obscenely off thing about him. Another was that he had taken up an interest in something that no Cybertronian would ever be caught _dead _touching or interacting with. Organics. But not just organics in general; oh no, he wasn't stopping there. Instead, he went far enough to develop an interest in a specific _type _of organic. This later evolved to him only associating his interests with bioluminescent creatures; organics that could glow in the dark. Whether it was because he felt a bit of kinship towards them because _he _could glow in the dark as well or if it was some other reason, no one could comprehend. Not even Freezon, his beloved twin sister who exploited her power for stealth and secrecy to dig up dirt for Venus Magazine.

But still, Natron had a very fixed and specific fascination with these bioluminescent organics. He once captured some small, flying creatures in one of his signature jars to take back to his quarters on the ship, but they died almost instantaneously the next day. He later found that impermanence was very common for these magnificent yet small organisms. As such, he would empty and clean out his aptly named 'bio-lumi-jar' to go out and capture new ones to study and/or decorate his quarters with. It was the only scientific profession he bothered to attempt, though most of his 'studying' only included how long they lived and what they did with their ability. He was most definitely not going to stoop as low as dissecting the great myriad of miniature living things he had collected over the years.

More often than not, however, he merely left them up on a shelf to glow fervently above his head while he slipped into stasis for the night, content in knowing that at least one Cybertronian cared for them.


	3. Thundercracker

He did not like to admit it, but he had a growing fondness for organics.

While he would never admit this to anyone at all, not even Skywarp, he did somehow come to terms with the fact that organics did _not, _in fact, completely obliterate him the instant it came into contact with him. For quite a while, he was amazed, even curious, about this phenomenon. He had heard countless 'scary stories' of organics being at the least a nuisance, and at the most a threat to all Cybertronian life currently existing in the universe. The metal-eating Scraplets should have been clue enough that organics were dangerous.

Or at least… _certain _organics were dangerous. When he first came into direct contact with an organic, it was furry and actually rather… adorable? It wasn't attempting to destroy him, nor was it trying to annoy him, _nor _was it harming him unwittingly in any way. It just stood there with large, green eyes with slits as pupils, and often made a rumbling sound. Due to the fact that he was rather immobile at the moment, his internal medical systems still working their magic trying to make him mobile again (or at least strong enough to send a distress signal), he couldn't really do very much to get it off of him. At least until Skywarp came along and screamed so loudly that it ran away.

Thundercracker had half a mind to berate Skywarp for sending the thing away, but caught himself before he went too far off the edge. Why in the world would he want to berate Skywarp for getting rid of an _organic?_ They were not only one of the many inferior beings in the universe, but also a source of almost hysterical paranoia and/or disgust for any sensible Cybertronian. He should have been _grateful _for Sky—no, wait. He shouldn't be 'grateful', per se, but instead berate him for stealing his chance to prove that he was truly invincible towards organics. After all, what other explanation could there be for him surviving the contact other than the fact that he was truly invincible, unable to be harmed in any way, shape or form! He truly was the greatest force in the universe!

And yet, he almost… _missed _the little thing. He had no idea why he was missing the organic creature at all, but he did. There was something comforting about having the small thing staying with him. While it was a bit annoying, staring at him while rolling around and playing with itself on his chestplate, it was also mildly amusing for the exact same reasons. He was almost certain that he was going insane.

It became even more apparent later on. After Starscream had finally taken them to attack Megatron's base after one Orbital Cycle (or as the humans called them, 'months') of 'trust-building', he and Skywarp were cemented to an annoying, fast-talking Autobot. After the Autobot had esca—_strategically fallen into his trap_, Thundercracker and Skywarp were left alone. They had been flying around aimlessly for quite some time now, and the more they pressed forward, the more Thundercracker's thoughts drifted. And lately, they had been drifting towards the small organic creature.

He had long since stopped caring about thinking about it. The more he thought about them, the more he realized that the organics in general did not harm him at all; if they did, then he couldn't have possibly survived in all of the greenery surrounding the outskirts of Delaware (he wasn't sure if it was the actual name of the city, but he couldn't care less). And, unlike what Skywarp believed, not everything in the universe was specifically out to get them.

Of course, he had thought that he had managed to come to terms with the incident several times before, but apparently his subconscious didn't think so. Every single time he was relaxing for a stasis-nap, the face of the organic creature would pop up in his head and give him something to think about and keep him awake. He would ponder endlessly about what that organic meant to him until his processor finally gave up and decided to let him slip into stasis. He had changed his opinion several times since he had met the small organic creature.

At first, he thought of it simply as a nuisance. After much brooding and re-evaluating, he had decided that organics would actually make pretty good companions; they were rather entertaining, and also quite empathetic. Somehow, the organic creature could tell if Thundercracker was annoyed, amused, or anything, really. It would react accordingly to whatever he expressed on his face; if he expressed disgust, it would either stop doing whatever it was doing. It was also rather intelligent, knowing when Thundercracker was scowling on purpose to try and get it off of his chassis. It would instead continue on with its agenda, until he had decided that the organic was amusing him.

Over the course of his misadventures with Skywarp, they had crash-landed on one organic planet. And, once again, he came into contact with a small organic creature. It was almost as though you were coming into contact with transparent cotton. It was also wearing a neck accessory and a mask over what appeared to be a large black sphere that served as its head. He only kept contact for a short while before he somehow managed to convince it that he was friendly. It started following him and Skywarp around, long enough that Skywarp stopped being afraid of it.

And long enough to get Thundercracker to warm up to it.


	4. Jazz

Jazz was rather fascinated with it all, to be honest.

When he started talking to the humans on a regular basis, he began to notice a pattern. No matter where he went, the dialects were different. It could be as interchangeable as individual people, or it could even be entire regions that had a different way of speaking. Some people spoke as he did, with what was titled 'Fifties Jive'. Most of the people who used Fifties Jive were old-timers, though. Most of the people in Detroit instead spoke 'Newscaster's English', a subset of the English Language that was considered as neutral as you could ever get with English.

However, when he left Detroit, he discovered that everyone had different ways of speaking, even down to the way they pronounced certain words. Some people would say 'to-mar-oh' for tomorrow, whereas another would say 'to-more-oh' instead. Jazz was very interested in this, though of all of the dialects and accents he had tried out personally, he had decided that he liked Fifties Jive the best, and so continued to use it as his accent.

But then there was another thing he had noticed from his digging into human culture; _music. _He had always used his specialized audio receptors for enhanced communications with others, as he was specifically made to have the best hearing of any Autobot. More often than not, though, he decided to listen to Cybertron Transmission instead of dullsville High Council meetings and suchlike. When he discovered music, he was completely blown away.

Humans were no shabby creatures when it came to creation, he knew that. They would go beyond the sky, which for them was the ultimate limit, if they had to in order to see their dreams and visions come to life. They would create video feeds from stylistic copies of what they saw in real life. They would take things they saw and put them together to create a building larger than they were. They would come together into groups and tell each other stories, mixing them together and writing them down manually with keyboards, pencil and paper, markers, chalk, spray-cans, anything. But in his opinion, music was the best thing that they had ever invented.

He had dug as deep as he could, deeper even than the sounds of inanimate objects being harmonized into beats and songs to be danced to of modern music. He searched deep into the Internet, discovering musical classics that used electronics to create out-of-this-world tracks and records. He discovered countless songs, bands, instruments, musical genres, _everything_. He was a very traditional sly though, so his playlist was full of the dead-beat classics. He listened to all of them.

Kraftwerk, the inventors of techno and electronic, his favorite genre. Daft Punk, the demigods of all things electronically made, and the first robots created to make music and house a soul of their own. Gigi D'Agostino, the unknown yet highly talented Italian man who made surrealistic hits throughout his life. 'Tell Me Why' by Supermode, whose addicting tune was sampled and used as inspiration for millions of later musicians. Hiroyuki ODA, a user of the antiquated 'Vocaloid' software for vocals, and a wonderful Progressive Trance artist. All of these wonderful artists littered his ears and always managed to make him smile, even when SP was taking a turn for the worse in the meetings.

Then there were the outfits and styles they created. No two humans looked alike unless they were twins, and even then they had enough distinction between them that you could tell them apart instantly. He saw some humans wearing white and blue matching jumpsuits that resembled antique 'Disco' clothing. He saw humans who wore Indian saris and other middle-eastern garb in a new and fashionable way. He saw humans who wore business suits that still had t heir own individuality and flare to it that others couldn't possibly hope to imitate.

All in all, Jazz was completely and utterly _fascinated _with what he saw around him. All of the humans and music and creation he saw from them. All of their individual cars and styles and clothing and art! Some humans dedicated their lives to the military, while others decided to spend their lives drawing stylized versions of humans or creatures. Still other instead decided to create cars or weaponry, other chose to work for construction of buildings, and a whole bungalow of people decided to join politics, charity work, and countless other professions!

Jazz was more than surprised that the humans could be so diverse. Some of the things they came up with didn't even have anything to do with construction or the military, which was surprising to Jazz because he had never before seen such diversity. The entire planet itself was diverse and different. In one video he dug up from the Internet summed this up perfectly; "Where the Hell is Matt?". It showed the same man doing a funny collection of movement dubbed 'dancing', whilst the environment around him changed, but he did not. In the video alone, he saw colorful suburb homes, astonishingly beautiful cliffs and mountains, beaches, deserts, ice floes, glaciers, artistic buildings, abstract sculpture, wine valleys, mountains roads, creeks, among millions of other jabberwocky and downright solid scenery and landscapes. After all of his observing, he had actually begun to question why anyone at all would wish death or destruction upon these things.

Unfortunately, that's what almost every other Cybertronian wished upon Organics.


	5. Prowl

Prowl was happy.

Of course, why shouldn't he be happy? He was surrounded by thousands of organic plants, by far his favorite of all the organic apparatus he had found during his stay on Earth. But, then again, he also had reason to be unhappy. After all, he _was _dead.

He wasn't very sure about what had happened to him. At first, he had thought that The Well of All Sparks wasn't ready to accept him yet, back during the last fight he had ever participated in. For a short while, he merely waited, until he saw that Optimus was in trouble. Perhaps The Well knew that he was supposed to do something more? That was what he had initially thought, so he aided Optimus in surviving the fight. But that wasn't enough for them.

After a while, he began to wonder if it was something else. Perhaps he had done something that meant he would not be accepted into The Well? He had followed that train of thought for quite some time now. The sinful deeds he counted, he soon realized, were bountiful. He hadn't gone a single moment in his lifecycle without doing something that he now regretted. He started from the beginning, and then went on from there, eventually ending at the moment he died.

Unfortunately, he had found himself right back where he started; sitting at the crook of a tree's roots, staring off into a plain that later grew into a mountain. Perhaps this was for the best. He wasn't certain of what The Well looked like, but many other Cybertronians speculated that it was a large spiral of sparks within a lot of darkness. Prowl stared at the scene in front of him, quietly. The only sound he could hear was the pitter-pattering of bugs and a few other sounds. It was actually quite peaceful, truly.

He continued to stare out at the landscape for what felt like a minute, but he could tell from the position of the sun that it had been about one Earth hour, perhaps more. Time seemed to speed up for him, while he was here as a… what precisely was he? He hadn't thought about this notion at all up until now, mostly because he was more interested in discovering why he wasn't in The Well of All Sparks.

He had known of a certain thing that humans had called 'ghosts'. The explanation for what ghosts were ranged from the religious to the scientific to the childish, but there was a significant chunk of humans that believed in them. The general consensus for what a ghost is is generally pretty simple, though; a ghost is a restless soul.

He had wondered briefly about what a human soul was, when he was alive, though it was fairly easy to figure out. A soul was a human's equivalent of the Spark. What the soul _looked _like was a different story altogether; many had assumed it was merely an outline of the person it once was, while others thought that they assumed the shape of a symbolic animal. In the middle of these thoughts, Prowl lifted up his 'hands' to see. Well, whatever he was, he was more an outline of his chassis than anything else. He was also mildly surprised to find that he was still wielding his Samurai Armor.

His thoughts leaned back to his initial questions. Why was he now, for lack of a better word, a ghost? Why had he not been accepted? Unfortunately, Prowl simply wasn't in the mood to think about it. He sighed, and leaned back against the large, thick trunk of the tree. Then he noticed that the scene before him had changed; now it was sunset, and the bugs had stopped their chattering. Most of the birds, save the diurnals, had begun to rest, and everything suddenly became much quieter than it was before. Then Prowl thought up another theory;

Was it because he liked Organics? Was he truly spat out of The Well, simply because he had an interest in organics! Prowl considered this angry thought for a moment, and only grew vengeful. What a stupid reason! Why in the universe would a simple prejudice against organics _possibly _be reason enough to reject a brave, messianic spark such as him!

He stopped. He was being narcissistic. If he kept this up, he'd never enter The Well. Though now that he was calming down a little, he wondered if he even _wanted _to go to The Well in the first place. He had never had a very good fondness for dying, anyways. He would much prefer staying as he was, transparent and free to explore and watch the Earth without fear of… well, anything really. He was now free to walk as he saw fit, observe every landscape he could at every point in time to his heart's content. Prowl smiled.

That's when he finally discovered the truth. He hadn't been _rejected _from The Well at all. He was only here because The Well had somehow _known _that he would have much preferred staying on Earth, surrounded by his favorite green substance in the universe; plants. However, this was not one of the historical 'a-ha!' moments at all. Once Prowl had realized the truth for himself, he was merely contented. All in all, he approved The Well's choice.

And he was also admittedly proud that he figured it out himself.


End file.
